


an everburning love

by acheryx



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mythology, Character Death, Deity GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Deity Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Hurt No Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Light Angst, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Unrequited Love, dream as hyacinthus, george as zephyrus, sapnap as apollo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:02:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28230585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acheryx/pseuds/acheryx
Summary: It's not Dream's fault, really—that there are two gods desiring him. He knows George is dangerous, cold as the north wind he controls.Sapnap, though. Sapnap would never harm him.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream/Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 189





	an everburning love

**Author's Note:**

> wtf is historical accuracy!!!!

Nothing can quite compare to Sapnap. He burns like fire, angry and loving and melting him from the inside all at once. It makes him nauseous to think about, sometimes—Sapnap's true powers—but Dream is often able to ignore his godly nature in favor of his more human love.

  


* * *

  


Dream closes his eyes, face tilted towards the sky.

In the field around him, flowers shiver with a gentle breeze and the sun overhead warms his skin like a flame on stone. It soaks through his body, and for an instant he almost feels as though it's Sapnap's magic coursing through him, lighting him up from the inside.

Sapnap's shown him it before, the glowing heat that shines beneath his skin, the way his veins light in high emotions, the way his eyes shine like all the souls of heaven. He should be back soon—within the hour, Dream hopes.

"Dream," a voice calls from behind him, and he's awash with a chill breeze.

There goes his pleasant evening. Without moving, he sighs, and announces: "George, God of the North Wind."

George pulls the air amongst flowers, twisting Dream's hair with the weeds. It slinks along his skin like a scolded cat; he knows Dream doesn't enjoy it but it only makes him persist. "How are you, _Dreamie?_ Is the sun too harsh on your skin? You look...burned."

In the sinking sun, he casts a long shadow to parallel Dream's own body, wings lose on his back, a mirage of comforting limbs.

Dream looks west, towards where the sun is already setting. George's silhouette looms, presence cold against his skin. _Burned?_ If Sapnap burns him, it is a fire of love, one of warmth and care. "Leave me alone, George."

George scoffs.

He kneels beside Dream's head, and slowly, carefully—runs a hand through his hair.

Dream shivers at the touch.

He doesn't like it, certainly not. But he doesn't...dislike it, either. George pets him like a dog, short nails running across his scalp, making him arch into the touch. And Gods, he wants to pull away—he does, he really does, but...

There's something about George that isn't present in Sapnap. He's calmer, perhaps, desiring a relationship he can dominate. One where he gives and Dream receives. Sapnap is equal, compared to the other god; he lets Dream do as he wishes and matches his hard humanity with easygoing experience. He may stand against Dream, but only in the way of rocks in a stream. George is a dam against him—always restricting, always pinning him back.

And for that, he chose Sapnap.

"Do not touch me," Dream hisses. He knows it's daring to oppose a god, but he doesn't care at this point. He stands swiftly, backing the west sun, and glares into George's face.

The light flickers in George's eyes in one thunderous beat. George's head cocks in the foreboding dark.

"Or what?" he asks, softly.

Dream feels a slight warning in his heart. "I'd sooner sacrifice myself than accept your hand."

That causes George to lean back. The false sun blazes against his back, one final call before slipping under the horizon. George seethes, hands spreading—but he knows Sapnap will be back soon.

He steps away, backward, one foot at a time, wings spreading. He disappears between one blink and the next, and Dream lets out a breath that'd been stuck in his throat since he arrived.

The stars emerge around him, but a heat stirs at his spine, burning hot with thrashing emotion.

Feet crunch through the weeds. Sapnap, god of the sun, of healing, archery, poetry, music—and his lover.

Dream smiles.

Rough arms come around him. Sapnap nuzzles into his neck like a dog, and for all his divinity, he is one. Dream giggles at the slight kiss on his collar. "Sap— _nap_ ," he drawls, pulling out the second vowel. "What're you doing that for?"

Sapnap hugs him tighter, arms burning for half a second. "Nothing. I love you, Dream—you know that, right?"

"Yes; of course. I love you too," he says easily. He slips out of his grasp and turns. Sapnap, despite being the god of the sun, looks thunderous. "What?" he half-laughs, but he knows, knows what Sapnap witnessed.

Sapnap's eyes flick down, then back up. They glow against his skin. "I saw you with him."

"Him—I wasn't _with him_ , he was bothering me! You don't think I'd enjoy that, do you?"

For all their banter, there is always an eternal reminder in Dream's mind. Sapnap is a god—not mortal, and much, much more powerful than he lets on.

Sapnap slides his hands from Dream's stomach and grabs his palms. He squeezes once, first a test of strength then a display of anger, and Dream can feel his bones shifting under Sapnap's pressure, his skin bunching at the sides. He almost struggles out of his grasp, but Sapnap eases up and relaxes into a more casual handholding.

"I don't like him talking with you. Or interacting with you," Sapnap mutters. He twines a hand in Dream's hair, just as George had done, and his eyes search Dream's face. "I want to kill him sometimes."

Dream's mouth tilts, and he looks around Sapnap's face. His dark hair is shoved aside with a white cloth, skin tan from the heat of his chariot. He's beautiful. And dangerous. "I cannot stop him, you know that. And when two gods fight..."

"The destruction is immeasurable." Sapnap's lips meet his, sandpaper against silk. He murmurs into Dream's breath. "No mortal ever outlives a fight between two gods."

Dream wheezes out a laugh, kisses back with temper. "You want to contemplate my _death_ the moment you get back? We haven't talked in a day!" Sapnap begins chuckling beside him.

"Look—I care about you, okay? I love you," Sapnap tries, but Dream's laughing too hard to notice or answer. Sapnap huffs, drags Dream up. "You are so _ungrateful_ , Dream, I hate you. Fuck..."

Dream's giggling, body shaking in hysteria. Sapnap can barely understand his hiccuping words, but there are parts of _I hate you_ that he hears, which only makes him sigh more. "My love—come now, Dream, the dark is rising and we're quite far from our home, let us _go_..."

Eventually, Dream calms, but it only takes one glance at Sapnap's disappointed face to send him back into giggles. He sighs, begins dragging his enamored to their sanctuary.

  


* * *

  


It is nearing midnight when they arrive, stumbling like drunkens since Sapnap can't keep a stoic exterior while Dream's around. The night is warm, cloudless—firebugs and crickets keep them company, and some nameless beast calls out in the deep. At the edge of a grove they arrive to a dilapidated, lone _okios_.

It is not a new place for them—moons past, when they had first met, Sapnap convinced Dream to let himself be dragged out into the wilderness, away from Sparta. They had shared many memories in this house; breathless kisses and loving glances in the dark, whispers of forgotten words, flowers in shining yards. It was their little refuge, an oasis in a sweltering sea of duties and requirements of life.

They slip through the courtyard, into the night. Moonlight trickles past crevasses of the halls like smoke, clouding Dream's senses as he's dropped down on the bed. Sapnap unties his chiton, letting it hang from his fingertips as he watches Dream's body. Against the sheets he glows, freckles shining like constellations over his chest. His hair is a pour of liquid gold ruffled over his face. Coquettishly, he arches, rolls over, and gives a slow blink over his shoulder.

Sapnap bursts into laughter, sharp and piercing against the moon. "Dream, you are—oh, by the _heavens_ , Dream, I cannot believe you." He dives into the bed, Dream giggling around him. They wrestle—Sapnap rolls him over his shoulder once, catching his breath in a kiss. Dream slides out, slippery as a fish, and manages to wrap his legs around the other. Muscles flex, and the air burns with their breaths. He leans down in Sapnap's face, a wolfish grin pulling his lips back. Nips at his neck.

Sapnap huffs into the soft sheepskin throw, twisting slightly. Dream dips down and licks his nose, rears back with a wheeze. "Let me _up_ , dammit! What a nuisance—you're like a dog!"

Dream rolls off him, panting. Though Sapnap had let him win, he hadn't gone easy, and sweat drips across his chest like water off a bird's wing. "You love me," he gasps between inhales. "You probably like it, too."

"Oh—what in all hells, Dre— _Clayton_ ," Sapnap mocks. Dream lets out an indignant scoff at the use of his full name. "Come, let us go bathe, you smell worse than a barracks full of soldiers." He pulls Dream off the bed, letting the other laze against him in an overdramatized display of weakness.

In a side room overgrown with vegetation, a bathing pool is fed by a soft spring, just large enough for the both of them. Refreshing, and shallow—when Dream sits, the water comes up to his chest. Sapnap leans against him, head tipped back to the stars peeking in.

Dream sinks into the water.

He breathes in the night, thinking of his lover. For seven moons they've known each other, caught like birds in the web of savage love and roiling emotions. Long summer nights spent under the blue are all but gone, fleeting memories in the darkening days of the autumn moon, and the lighthearted honeymoon phase is long since past.

A hand touches his under the water. Sapnap's voice is a warm balm to his wounds, dark, twinged with desire. "Dream, my love. What troubles you?"

"...Nothing, I'm sorry," he whispers. He cannot halt time.

Sapnap turns more fully toward him, flicks water into his face. Dream flinches, snickers. "Why'd you do that?"

Sapnap locks eyes with him, and for a second it feels like he's looking into his very soul—Dream can almost feel the tendrils of his magic piercing his skin, seeping below his veins and spreading like wildfire. He inhales, suddenly desperate.

A smirk grows on Sapnap's lips. Dream can't hold himself back.

They meet each other with a slight shudder of water, casting ripples out into the night. Dream parts first, stealing Sapnap's breath in a hurried gasp as hands meet arms, fingers meet shoulders, bodies touch. A hand runs through Dream's hair, nails scratching achingly pleasuring lines across his scalp. He moans into Sapnap's mouth. Hands squeeze on his waist. The water turns hot, scalding hot for a moment—so hot it burns, but he wants to bask in it for all eternity.

Something shakes Dream, a wave of magic to his core; a ray of light flings out in a sudden and hot shockwave around them.

Dream pulls away with a hand in his hair. "S—Sapnap..."

A low, purring growl replies. " _Dream_." His eyes lock Dream in place as if he were physically barricaded in place. Even after that clash of sudden lust and deep yearning, his eyes glow with sharp desire, stars in his pupils.

Dream swallows. Inhales, exhales.

Grins.

  


* * *

  


The night passes in a flurry of sweat-slick skin and rough movements, a storm of energy that kept them up all night and sending Dream's mind swirling in pleasure. Sapnap finishes with a bittersweet massage before setting off for the sun, and Dream is left relaxing in the bed like a lost lover. It takes him an eternity to slide out of bed, half-asleep through most of it, and make his way to a small bench outside.

Birds chip pleasantly, and the day-warmed stone under his fingertips burns. He can feel Sapnap's presence beside him, an illusion of the sun, flickering between life and death.

The morn passes much the same way as previous ones, lazy amber-filled skies and sticky breezes. Dream spends much of his time in the pond or watching the birds—it's a pass time that encourages him to focus where nothing else can.

Late afternoon comes, and with it a refreshing breeze. It tangles through his hair, kisses his eyelids, cleanses his skin. Lying atop the stone bench, torso bared to the dancing clouds, Dream almost doesn't notice it—the shift in the wind, the shift in his stomach. It's George. Again.

"Dream, dearest," George greets. An mirage of the past, he stands slightly behind him, again ajacent to Dream's awaiting form. He rests a hand atop his bare shoulder.

Dream shifts away, disgust warming his skin faster than Sapnap ever could. "Don't."

On the edge of the forest, the birds are loud in the silence. The sun shines hotter. Dream can imagine Sapnap's chariot racing closer, caught in this sudden, magnetic pull.

"Oh, come _on_ , Dreamie. Aren't you lonely? I would be, if my lover left me each and every day." George's words drip poison onto his neck, and Dream can feel the sickly sweet ache of it burning his skin. His hand slides across his chest, slim fingers touching like raindrops. "If my lover cared not for me but instead for his duties…"

The mixed combination of the dizzying heat and George's snaky words cast a spell over him; his head throbs at the sudden silence. It seems like time has stopped—but it can't be: at the edge of his vision, birds spiral in the blue.

George continues talking through his muffled haze, desire and crazed secrets spilling like gold from his mouth. Dream blinks, unmoving, stuck in a honeyed web. His limbs feel heavy, suddenly—so heavy he can't move them.

"Dream… We could have it all, huh? I could take you away and live a life of luxury, freedom, peace." 

It sickens him, George's poisonous persuasion. He can feel the strange lust spreading through him, an arrow of light through his heart, a piercing beam of joy and happiness diluting his soul...

_"You could have anything your heart desires, at the click of my fingers... You need only to agree, my love."_

...so bright but so cold, everburning and eternally freezing all at once, trailing from his lips like the sweetest wine, like a spider's silken web, like blood from harsh bitten lips...

Dream's half-aware as the sky darkens, as George curves over him. In his haze, he can hardly see clearly, but the one thing he notices is the god's face—contorted into a beautiful, terrible smile. George moves in slowed time, hand stretching out to cradle Dream's jaw, head tilting.

Dream blinks molasses slow, and in his blindness he sees Sapnap, not George—in some treacherous trick, his hair darkens, his eyes darken, and his face rounds out to the other god's appearance.

He leans forward, eyes fluttering shut. Mouth parts on a breathy gasp. In the softest whimper: "Sapnap..."

A soft thunder snaps him out of it.

"What the hell are you doing."

Dream comes back to himself, gasping; he's turned on his shoulder, skin suddenly sweaty yet pricking with deep, instinctual fear, chest heaving. Sapnap's voice is sharp, predatory—protective. The sun glimmers as it dips below the horizon, and as something above him moves, he realizes his lucid state had lasted far longer than he'd thought.

Sapnap's legs are just barely in his line of sight: a wide stance, bow raised and ready. A wind whips at his leathers, feisty and dangerously cold as the sky darkens, much faster than it should. Realization and remembrance set in; it was George who had done this to him, who had sent him into this delirious state.

He rolls off the bench and staggers to Sapnap's side—all this time they'd been talking, unnoticed by Dream, but Sapnap clutches him tight with a swift arm as soon as he gets close. Dream, wind tearing at his hair despite his proximity to Sapnap, shakes and turns to George.

George hovers in the air, a hawk set to dive upon its prey. His wings are wide, ached behind his back, cast into deep shadow yet highlighted in harsh ice. Frosty winds flail in a tornado around him, shaking small sticks and branches of trees nearby, sending leaves fluttering. His mouth moves, yet no matter how hard Dream concentrates, he can only hear a high, staticky white noise, a resonance in his chest, a discordant shudder in his soul.

Sapnap is radiant in anger, an uncoordinated flame. Dream can't hear him either, just deep, deep rumbles as he yells in whatever true voices they have. He is burning, glowing like the sun—his bow itself is a bolt of lightning, searing his eyeballs. His arms shake in rage, fingers flexing with pulsating magic.

For a moment, a breath amidst the tense situation, Dream can't help but take a moment to glance at Sapnap. Caught in the whirlwind of gods, at peace somehow. Lovestruck. An apparition of heavens, a perfect being above him. Sapnap glances down, distorted in the clashing light, but Dream's still captivated. Breathing like they're alone. He looks back in the next instant, magic thrown from his hand.

And suddenly, as George counters, Dream's dropped back into the loud orchestra of conflict. Remembers why it's such a bad mistake to get caught between two gods. _No mortal ever outlives a fight between two gods_. He drops to his knees, screams, cringes at each burst of power—the magic churning around them _hurts_ —clutches at the earth, nails digging into the soil. The air spikes around him. Branches and small leaves slice at his bare arms, blood welling in synonymic scratches.

He can almost touch the air now, with how thick it is; anger and pain and shame and greed shoving at each other. Two gods fighting in one dense area, tearing apart the world.

The foul beast of jealousy rears its head, growls into the air, his soul—makes his limbs shake as though he'd just ran miles, makes his eyes hurt like he'd stayed awake for a year. Fallen at Sapnap's feet, ground almost swaying beneath him, he curls into a ball and covers his ears, desperate for an end.

Light flickers behind his eyelids, both white and gold. The incoherent roaring is louder, piercing his skull; thrashing trees and crackling energy between the eternal thunder. Sapnap does— _something_ , he's not sure—but it forces aside the building pressure in his skull and the world stops falling apart for a moment. George retaliates with an even harsher blow; his groan breaks through the suffocating noise.

He wants to claw his face off, the fuse of sensations sending him insane. He begs, mouth moving mindlessly, to some other being for it to all end, unable to hear his thoughts.

He's scraping at the ground, sobbing—when it suddenly…stops. Just stops, as though he'd stepped through a door. A deafening shockwave, and then it's quiet. There's no more pressure, no achingly deep clash of emotion, just harsh, jagged silence.

Sapnap moves away from him, groans; Dream uncurls to see him fall to his knees, silhouetted against the moon as if he'd been impaled in the gut. And Dream lunges, lunges to see if he's injured—but _he_ can barely move and collapses a foot away. "Sapnap... No!" he cries. "Please, no—!"

"Dream," he says, grating. Voice dragging through the air like a noose around a neck. "Stop." It takes him an incredible amount of effort to do so, but Dream halts in a kneel, hands spread on the ground. "I need no—no physical assistance..."

Dream feels sick. His head pounds, a budding headache growing. He flexes a hand—his skin's dirty, bloody, but he can't find a single cut. Nor ones on Sapnap's torso and limbs. He sits heavily and looks back, stomach roiling.

George is gone; to where, he doesn't know. The stone bench he'd laid on hours earlier is cracked, overturned. The ground is scorched black in a ring around where George had been—foliage flung back, a dead sparrow lying spread in the middle. Ichor runs along leaves like rain, streaked across the trunks of nearby trees. He prays none of it was Sapnap's.

Dream exhales. Looks back. Sapnap is struggling up, bracing himself on his bow—Dream notices how dim it is now, uncharacteristically dark. "Sapnap," he rasps. "Are you—can I—"

Sapnap growls. "No, we're—whatever you wanna do, Dream, you can do it on your own. I'm leaving." He has a frighteningly mortal pallor to his face, eyes hooded. He favors his left, grimaces when the lower limb of his bow grazes his side.

"What'd you mean?" Dream blinks. Surely not—

Sapnap's shoulders square. His voice is cold. "I'm leaving, Dream."

Dream struggles up, nearly falls when nausea swamps him. "You're leaving? Sapnap, what—" Dream cocks his head, grins. "What?"

Sapnap _growls_. "Did you not hear me? Is your brain damaged from our godly voices? I said I am leaving. I cannot bear to let myself harm a mortal—or let another close to me. You cost me much tonight, Dream." He spits his name like a curse.

"What—what'd you mean?" he stutters, shock halting him. His smile drops. "What the hell are you talking about? Cost you—What?" He struggles up, pulls on Sapnap's arm roughly, childishly. Sapnap throws him to the ground. It knocks the air out of him, stomach roiling.

"I left my duties early for you, only to come back to my lover treating another god. Do you know what that takes? You—No, no mortal can _begin_ to understand..." Sapnap struggles to get his bow across his back, turns to glare at Dream. A blazing fire left unattended, spilling from the edges. "I need to be—alone. For a while. I'll be back."

Dream gapes at that, broken. It burns, hearing Sapnap degrade him to a mere mortal, but going so far as to claim him to be entertaining George—he has no words, snowballing thoughts lost in his attempt to understand. "Are you sure?"

Sapnap scrapes his mouth over his palm. "Yes." His voice is uncharacteristically deep. Dream hesitates, hoping for more—but it doesn't come. Something in him erupts.

"Oh, _fuck you_ ," he spits. "You liken me to a lowly whore, yet just want me as your little plaything! When it all seems to go wrong you're just—you—you are _leaving_ me!" His voice rises into a shaky shrill at the end, disbelief tinting his words.

"I get _hypnotized_ by George and you—" He breaks, faltering. Grasping at words, desperate for the perfect combination to convey his betrayal. "You choose to leave! Rather than help me!" he screams. Sapnap is stone-faced; unfeeling, uncaring. "You watch me fall apart and you can't—you…"

He heaves, staring at the ground. Emptied of anger. His voice is rough, dragging over pain: "Do you hate me, is that it? Am I just an annoyance to you? A moronic human that you're only choosing to entertain, to love—out of pity? Was it all a lie? Are you... Did you ever want me? You must've known it would end like this.

"Tell me the truth."

A breeze slinks through the clearing, and in the silence, in the dark, Dream turns back to Sapnap. His jaw clenches, hands flex.

"The truth." Sapnap doesn't meet his eyes. "You want the truth?" he whispers. "You are nothing to me. I am eternal. Neverending. I could never sacrifice that for a mortal."

Now he moves closer, a sharp step—a prowling panther.

"Did you hear me? You are nothing to me. You _are_ my plaything. You are a fucking game for me. I could kill you just as easily as George could. I would—I should've, the moment you thought you were important enough to drag me away from my destiny, the moment you thought you were more important than Fate and all the gods. You aren't. You're not, you hear me? Your one fatal flaw is _mortality_. It is the reason we will never be equals."

Blood pools behind Dream's teeth with the force he's biting on his tongue. He's unable to break his gaze from Sapnap, already barely visible in the dark.

"You are _worthless_ to me—and a gods-damned idiot if you ever thought you would matter."

He leans in his face for that last line, each word a slap in the face. His body a pure arch of power over him, dominating, muscles coated in the sheen of the moonlight—before he pulls back.

Dream can't move. Can't breathe, can't blink, as Sapnap takes heavy steps away, leaving him behind, discarded, another cracked line in the book.

He's lost to the night soon—Dream's eyes are far too watery for him to even care at this point. It hits him, then—all of it, weeks and lifetimes spent together, gone, in a night. _You're a fucking game for me._ Did Sapnap really think that? Was it all fake, one-sided? Was he delusional enough to be tricked into such a thing?

"Fuck," he moans, wavering in the air. There's blood in his mouth. It's all a lie. "Fuck!" He punches the ground, screams—all his pent up anger and heartbreak coming free. He yells expletives, cries into the dirt, cries for so long he feels empty and sick. So long that the sun begins to rise in the east.

Sapnap's there, he knows. Mounted atop that golden chariot like the sun itself, righteous, harsh in superiority. To many, hope for the new day. His hands shake, throat raw. Hope. What a mockery.

He crumbles dirt in his palm, watches it slip from his fingers like memories. Lost to the sea of time and he can do nothing to stop it.

Already he regrets it—the spat words, scathing accusations. He wants to slide away, into whatever hellhole lies beneath him, sacrifice himself to the terrors rightfully bestowed upon a flawed human such as him. Wants to take it all back, pass out and wake up in that faux world of mislabeled truths and conniving promises.

But he cannot. He is no god, no diety with even a fraction of the power. He can do nothing in this situation; he is a caged bird. Singing to his heart's content, never heard, never liberated. And maybe one time, he had thought that Sapnap was the key, the kind god to break his trap. Maybe in some other lifetime.

Sapnap turned the key farther now, locking him in.

  


* * *

  


For the third day noon passes without a god.

Dream busies himself in the morning with cleaning up the sanctuary and plucking berries for a snack—most squished between his fingers in sudden bouts of anger—and travels to a long gymnasium around the back of the house. Walled in but open to the sky, he shakes out his limbs and takes a short run. His feet pound into the grass, breaths pushed from his lungs in harsh pants. He tires eventually, stops in the shade for a beat.

The day's been hot, overbearingly so; nothing at all like the past few mornings. A sudden heatwave seemed to have struck in the night, sapping the moisture from the air and causing his head to throb dangerously. Despite this, Dream picks up a discus.

It's heavy in his hand, a nice warm bronze circle. Carefully he tosses it in his hand, catches it in the other. Polished to a shine, he can see himself, see the spotless blue above him. Somewhere in that sky is Sapnap—somewhere far, far above.

He makes his way to one end of the gym—feet planted in the grass, knees bent. He hefts the discus in his right hand and throws it out, an exhilarated gasp leaving parted lips. The discus soars, flies high into the air in a perfect arc, tumbles to the ground a dozen yards away. Wings clipped.

He feels—light. Airy. Like somehow he'd been freed that night. No longer was he dependent on Sapnap, no longer would he worry himself to restless sleep over George. He picks up another discus, tosses it harder than the previous in a bout of unattended energy. A spring of freedom bubbling up in his chest.

Maybe this is what he needed. All strings cut from both gods, with neither desiring him anymore. Maybe Sapnap had broken his cage, not locked it—maybe his explosion of power the previous night was the key.

He slings out more, some farther than the first, some clattering atop the others with a metallic ring. The sun blazes hot on his neck as he jogs out to retrieve them, and his legs shake as he arrives back with the few of them.

Again, muscles stretching, blessedly exercised, he throws them out. Each time he feels looser, freer; not only tossing metal but tossing away his negative memories. He begins to get sloppy with them—still strong, but as the day passes, he fumbles in exhaustion.

A soft wind brings with it a refreshingly sweet scent. It clears his thoughts, clears his head; Dream basks, tips his head back, eyes closed. A breath of fresh air.

George is standing in front of him when he opens his eyes.

Dream flinches. "Why are you here?"

George looks…regretful, almost. Brows drawn in, mouth a flat line. His wings shine, flashing bright in his eyes. "Dream, my dearest, I… Perhaps I went about obtaining you incorrectly. I do not wish to harm you, only—love you."

He scoffs, adjusts his tunic. How bold of him, to approach Dream after what had happened last night. He notices a slight pinkening around George's bicep, like an old scar. "Whether or not you wished it, you harmed me. You can't change what happened."

The sun casts a halo around George's hair, turning tranquil brown into a soft bronze. "Only the future. I ask of you, effortless beauty, how may I change that for you? How many I ensure that we could have a lifetime ahead of us?"

Dream swipes back sweat-slick hair. His skin cracks at the heat of the day, bare feet aching. The air seems sapped from the gymnasium. Leeched dry, a desert.

He walks out to pick up the half dozen discs, silent. George sighs.

"Understand me, my love, Dream… I only wish for the pleasure of your body against mine, for us to remain lovers for a century. What would it take?"

He inhales, exhales. Doesn't meet the god's eyes. "I am not going to be—with you, George, alright? I am never going to be with you. I do not… I am not ready for that again." He slings a disc again. "Please, leave me be."

"Leave you be?" George's voice is unreadable. He cocks his head slightly, wings flaring behind him. For a brief moment he glows, flaming. "Very well. May I have this one last game with you, Dream?"

Cautiously, he turns. George is malicious, pretentious. Cunning.

Elegant.

He sighs deeply, breath scorching his parched throat, contemplating as the god waits patiently. It was no question—whether or not Dream wants it, this last game George will have.

"Very well."

  


* * *

  


Dream begins.

Standing apart from each other, roughly the distance Dream could throw, he breathes and releases the disc. His arm burns with exhaustion, hand sore. It flies in a ragged arc, lands a few paces from George.

"A short distance," George calls, voice carrying, echoing. He grins. "Let me do better."

Indeed, as he effortlessly tosses it back, it soars like a shooting star, slicing through the air. Dream smiles, dispare forgotten, and steps over to retrieve it.

They throw back and forth for a while, sun remaining just as hot. He falters soon but George, tireless, continues on with just the same force. Actually—it seems that for every one of Dream's casual tosses, George returns it twice as hard, twice as far. The wind seems to favor George, letting his tosses slice through the air, sharp, fast.

The afternoon is fun. Tiring, but fun. And it hurts, knowing that he could've had this with Sapnap; it aches coolly like a blade down his back. But nonetheless, he stamps down the foreboding bittersweetness and tries to relish in this last game.

The sun begins its slow descent down. Dream's tired—so, so tired, like every breath is a labor in itself—but he forces himself to move his legs and pick up the last few discs, game unspokenly ended. George stands to one side of the field. Dream only spares a half second to look at his face, but it's surprisingly serious. He'd been quite the whole afternoon.

A sudden, finalizing breeze flutters by as Dream bends down for the last disc, sending the grass around Dream shaking. In the metal, his reflection shines blood red from the dying sun.

He stacks the discs against a slim pillar of the wall, chest heaving. It shouldn't have tired him out so much, but he'd been exhausted the whole afternoon, ever since George joined him.

The wind picks up, chilling his skin as the sun winks out of the sky. Dream frowns.

He's missing a disc.

And a heartbeat before he turns, a sharp, heavy weight settles into his back.

His tunic becomes so, so wet.

  


* * *

  


"Oh, no—mercy, I beg mercy—

"Please! You have to believe me, I did not mean—!"

  


* * *

  


Sapnap arrives at the gymnasium in twilight. It is a last-ditch effort to find his love: for all he knows, the other had deserted him. And if so, Sapnap won't pursue—he would have well and truly lost his chance with him.

Birds rise into the red sky, spiraling in perfect formation as he steps into the open gym. It takes Sapnap a second, a beat of a heart he doesn't possess, to dip his head inside, inhale the sweetness on the air.

At the opposite end of the gym, he sees a huddled mass.

Sapnap smiles, pained. How Dream has fallen, left alone in the night. He must have played around and in his exhaustion, passed out. Quietly, so as to not wake Dream, he approaches.

He freezes an arm's length from his lover. His senses tell him all he needs to know.

"D—"

He stops. _Dream?_ Tentatively, he reaches out, a lone hope fleeting in the night. Dream's slightly warm, but as he rolls his body over, deep red pools in the dirt like venom. The smell of death taints his nose as he drops to his knees.

"No, no, no… _Please_ no, I—" He conjures up herbs, tonics, tips them into his blued lips, spreads a salve over the parting of skin on his back. It's cold as he works—but it's futile, all his efforts. He groans, cries out to the sky.

"Please, Dream! I'm so sorry, my love, I should have never left you! My soul burns for you." He groans, long and wavering, tugs his hands through his hair. The air around him chills with the oncoming night.

"Oh how I wish I could drag you out of Tartarus with my own bare hands. Know that, even in our destructive fallout, I never truly despised you!"

"I cannot rewrite mortality, but I will bring some memory of you into this world." With shaking hands he breathes life into the earth, and from between his fingers a slim green stem protrudes. It blossoms rapidly in a kaleidoscope of blue, green, and red. "It is you, my Dream—may the petals ever hold my love for you, may it be everliving, such as you were unable to be."

Above him, the stars burn with his pain.

  


* * *

  


George hovers in the air a distance away, glowing in the sun's last breath.

_Oh, how could it have gone so wrong?_

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be 2-3k???? what lol


End file.
